The Most You Ever Lost
by Tiggys the Frazzled Furball
Summary: All Megan wanted was some cashews. Now this eerily handsome weirdo won't leave her alone.
1. Reaper

**Author's Nope: **I wrote this while eating cashews.

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**Disclaimer: **I own nothing here, but I created the random OC

**The Most You Ever Lost**

**By **Tiggys

**Summary: **All Megan wanted was some cashews. Now this eerily handsome weirdo won't leave her alone.

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**[Chapter One - Reaper]**

_June 6, 1990_

Nineteen year old Megan O'Leary coasted along the curb on her purple Schwinn bicycle, pulling up slowly in front of the little grocery store. All day long, she'd had a craving for cashews. Having gotten off an excruciatingly boring day of work only minutes earlier, she was determined to treat herself to her favorite snack, come hell or high water.

Tossing her long, golden hair over her shoulder, she pulled out a ponytail holder and wrapped it around her fingers before grabbing a handful of her locks. Once they were secured within a tight ponytail, she walked her bike over to the rack and chained it up.

The sun beat down on her back, absorbed by her black Batman t-shirt. It had been machine washed so many times, Michael Keaton's scowling portrayal of the Dark Knight had faded significantly. It was still her favorite shirt, next to the one featuring Jack Nicholson's magnificently mad Joker. As much as she loved superheroes, she couldn't deny there was a sense of wicked glamour to the villains they fought in the eternal struggle of good versus evil. She took hold of her shirt and flapped it to catch some wind, feeling hot and sticky. It would be nice to get home and wash away the day's troubles.

The door dinged innocently as she walked through it. The clerk was nowhere to be found. She figured him to be busy somewhere in the back, so she helped herself to the nearest water fountain, then went browsing for her desired treat.

Megan looked up and down the aisles, finding a variety of nuts, but no cashews.

"Damn," she muttered. Her blue eyes wandered, catching sight of a pair of simple vending machines: one drinks, the other small snacks. "Whatever!"

She walked to it and inspected the contents of the snack vendor. Huzzah! She found a full row of inexpensive cashew packets.

Also, a man. With a strangely dated haircut.

As Megan walked up to the machine, the man stood from his bent position, a packet of cashews in his hand. He opened the package, barely acknowledging her presence, until she spoke.

"How much are those?"

There was a pause as the man turned to her, placing a cashew into his mouth. "Sixty-nine cents."

He was dressed in a pair of black jeans, a dark blue high-collared denim jacket, and a brown cotton shirt. He was tall, with facial features that were strong and chiseled—a broad nose, heavy eyebrows, protruding cheekbones and a well defined chin. His eyes were the most striking feature of all. Blue as lapis. At once glistening and totally opaque. Like wet stones.

"Cheaper than I usually get them for," said Megan, blissfully cheery. She rummaged through her purse, eventually locating the correct amount.

The man never moved, eating his cashews while staring at her, nearly unblinking.

Megan became increasingly uncomfortable the longer he stared. She tried to ignore it, dropping her money into the coin slot. She selected "A7" and hit the button. A package dropped to the retrieval bin. She reached in and pulled it out, happy to have her most wanted snack.

"Mm, I'm a total cashew nut! Can't get enough of these things," she said, still making what she thought was conversation.

The man continued to chew, not saying a single new word. His eyes lowered briefly to his hands as he poured more cashews into his palm.

"No pun intended, but the prices for these things can get _nuts_ around here." Megan giggled at her own lame accidental pun. She opened her package and poured some into the palm of her hand. She paused to stare back at the strangely silent man, putting some cashews into her mouth. "How high are they in your state? I bet it's totally outrageous."

The man looked up from his cashews, slowly raising a single nut to his mouth. He placed it inside and began chewing quietly. "Which state would that be?"

Megan pointed at the store front's glass windows. "The white Chevy out front. I saw the license plates said you were from California."

The man chewed at her, staring intently. He finally swallowed. "What business is it of yours where I'm from... friendito?"

"Um, I guess it's not, really," said Megan, put off by the man's sudden rudeness. "I was just making conversation."

"Making conversation," the man mimicked, in a slightly higher voice than his own.

Mr. Pageboy Haircut had gone from weird to rude, in Megan's opinion. She smiled at him anyway. Two could play that game. "Sorry," she answered back sarcastically.

They stared at each other, calmly eating their nuts.

The staring contest finally unnerved Megan. She blinked, averting her eyes from his. The clerk still hadn't come back. "Is there... something wrong?"

"I don't know. Is there?" asked the man.

"I don't know," Megan said slowly, and more assertive. She narrowed her blue eyes. If he wanted to intimidate her with sexist machismo, it wasn't going to work. "There might be."

"There might be."

Megan shoved more cashews into her mouth, chewing quicker. "Yeah. There might be something wrong with _something_."

"Is there something wrong with me? Is that what you mean? Is there something wrong with _something?" _he asked, casually.

"I don't know. Maybe," said Megan. "_Is there _something wrong with you?" She tried to hold in a snicker.

The man inhaled and exhaled deeply. "You don't know what you're talking about, do you."

"Excuse you?" Megan blurted out. "I know what I'm talking about, do _you? _Nice hair cut, by the way."

The man snorted and coughed.

"You own that bicycle out front?"

"Yeah."

"You like riding that bicycle?"

"Um, yeah? I like biking," Megan answered with the utmost irritation in her voice. She crossed her arms, still munching on cashews.

"You're very athletic?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over Megan's body once.

She did have an athletically slim and toned frame. Anyone could have guessed that she liked exercising and was very active from a quick glance.

"Duh, dude." She shifted her weight to one hip.

The man finished his last cashew and crumpled the package in his hand.

"What's the most you ever lost on a coin toss?" he asked, throwing the package into the garbage can. With the other, he reached into the pocket of his jeans.

"What?" Megan asked, briefly confused.

"The most... you ever lost... on a coin toss."

Megan stared at him in disbelief. What a freak!

"I don't know. Maybe like... five, ten bucks? I have no idea," she answered.

He flicked the coin once, catching it in his palm. He turned his palm over and slapped it onto the back of the other hand.

"Call it," he said with a sigh.

"Call it?"

"Yes."

"Um, why?"

"Just call it."

"So... What are we betting on?"

"You need to call it. I can't call it for you."

"Dude, did you not hear me? What's the deal with this coin flip? What's on the line."

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Oh, okay. But I don't remember putting anything on the line."

"You've been putting it on the line your whole life. You didn't realize it until now. Call it."

"Um, yeah. So... What if I don't want to?"

"You have to call it."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. Call it."

"No way."

"You know what date is on this coin?"

"Do I care?"

Megan began walking away. To her annoyance, the weirdo began to follow behind her, still holding the coin securely, waiting for her to call it.

"You should. You should care very much."

"Well, too bad, so sad... I don't!"

"Nineteen eighty-one. It's been traveling ten years to get here."

Megan looked around for the clerk, found nobody, and decided to give up and exit. Weirdo-guy kept on following her like a lost little puppy.

"And now it's here. It's either heads or tails. And you have to call it."

"I'd rather not."

"Call it."

"Nope."

"Call it."

"Are you totally deaf, dude? It's not like I'll win anything off this!"

"You stand to win everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything. You stand to win... _everything_. Call it."

Megan paused, turning around to face him. She sighed, pretending to ponder long and hard about the coin toss. She smacked her lips for a while. "Let me think about it."

He stood there holding the coin for her for about a minute.

Finally, she shook her head. "Hmm, you know what? Uh-uh."

Laughing inside, she turned away and began to walk off again, heading out the door, to her bike.

"You need to call it," he spoke from a distance. He was still following her. "It wouldn't be fair for me to call it for you."

"Cry me a river, buddy," Megan snorted, exiting the store.

She walked over to the bike rack. To no one's surprise, the bell dinged again. Weirdo-guy came out.

"Call it."

"Dude, what is your malfunction? Seriously." Megan ignored him while undoing her bike chain and lock.

"It's heads or tails. Just call it."

"I knew you were crazy when I first saw that haircut." Megan laughed.

The coin-flipping weirdo sighed again, louder and angrier this time. "If you don't call it by sundown... you'll be in default."

Sundown wouldn't be for another two hours. Not that Megan cared.

"Talk to the hand."

Megan finished her cashews and tossed the empty bag into the wind. She pedaled away, leaving the wacko behind her, merely an afterthought.


	2. Fate

**[Chapter Two - Fate]**

Megan coasted toward the curb of her cozy little suburban home, nestled in a cul-de-sac surrounded by trees. Cicadas sang loudly, their grating song fading in and out with the gently blowing wind. Some children were playing baseball in the street a few houses away. She hopped off her bike and walked it the rest of the way to the garage. She unlocked the side gate and went it.

Inside her modestly furnished rental home, she went to the refrigerator, had a half glass of orange juice. Afterward, she headed to the shower. Feeling refreshed, she went back to her bedroom and slipped into a long KISS t-shirt. One of her ex-boyfriends with whom she had remained friends had gotten it for her. It was one of the most comfortable pieces of clothing she had worn since her Junior prom dress. A pair of fuzzy pink bunny slippers went onto her feet, and she sprawled on her back in her bed.

"What a day," she sighed, kicking her feet into the air lazily, watching while the battered old bunny heads flopped lifelessly.

Her blue eyes went to the window, where the curtains were parted. The sun was getting further down. She shuddered, thinking of the weird and creepy, yet strangely handsome guy she encountered at the store. What kind of accent did he have? She couldn't even place it.

Megan got up and went back to the kitchen to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. With the meal in hand, she wandered back to her room, feeling tired enough to sleep for a week. She almost didn't notice the shadow in the corner of the room, sitting on the stool where her Raggedy Andy doll had been. It was now on the floor.

In its place was...

The weird guy from the store?

Megan dropped the paper plate holding her sandwich. The glass of milk went next, falling from her hand as she raised it to her mouth to block a loud gasp.

"Oh my God, what the fuck!"

"Hello, Megan. You need to call it. You have..."

He looked over at the wall mounted clock.

"Seven minutes before sundown."

"How did you get in here?" she demanded.

"Call it."

"I'll tell you what I'm calling—the police! That's what I'm calling, you creepy stalking freak!"

"Six minutes. Just... call it."

Megan marched over to the phone, only to find that the line had been cut. She fumed instead of getting into a panic.

"You want me to call it?" she asked, glaring knives at her home-invasive stalker.

She stomped over to him, raising her hand into the air; he didn't flinch a muscle. She swatted the coin off his hand.

"TAILS! Now get the FUCK out!"

Without a word, and only the slightest fraction of a vague smile, the man got up. He walked to where the coin had landed, bent down, and inspected it.

Megan watched him pick the coin from off the shag carpet. He turned around and faced her. His blue eyes met hers, staring. The weird smile on his face grew wider.

"Well done," he said. He handed the coin to her.

She glared at it, then him, before she reached out and snatched it from his fingers. She tossed it into the open dresser drawer, where she kept more loose change.

"Don't put it in the dresser with the others," said the man. "It's your lucky quarter."

"Oh yeah? Well, where do you want me to put it?" Megan was fed up enough to humor this sick man. This sick, handsome man of currently unidentifiable ethnicity.

"Anywhere not in the drawer. Or it'll get mixed in with the others and become just a coin." He put on a weird face. "Which it is," he said, in his deep, masculine, exotic purr.

"Get out, now," said Megan.

He began to move away.

"No, wait... come back!" Megan called.

The man paused.

"What's your name?"

"Anton," he said, in a heavy sigh. "Anton Chigurh."

"Wait. I've heard of you. You're like... the ultimate bad ass or something?"

Chigurh gave a light shrug of his shoulders, barely noticable.

"I think I love you."

Megan threw herself into his arms. He caught her, moving slowly toward the bed, where they both collapsed.

A frenzy of urgent kissing began. Shortly after, there began the tearing off of clothing items.

They had hot, vastly out of character, sweaty monkey sex.

_And then you woke up._


End file.
